Are we dreaming?
by NotQuiteBerserk
Summary: Merlin has a nightmare. Camelot's finest witness. No slash, Twoshot.
1. In the eyes of a Warlock

**I keep hurting Merlin, I don't know why**

**Disclaimer: not mine**

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><p>It hurts, burning pain scouring his body, it <em>has<em> to stop, he can't bear it anymore. He can see them all. All burning, all afraid and he feels their pain as though it were his own corresponding with his own, amplifying it so he can't think, can't feel anything but the pain. He can't even remember his own name.

_Merlin_. Was that it? The word seemed alien somehow, as though it was being said from miles away, in another world.

Is he screaming? He doesn't know. He tries to reach out to stop whatever it is that has him in agony but he can't quite reach it. Pushing further and further until a miraculously clear part of his mind realises that he has pushed out far beyond the reach of his arm. But the torment only increases.

_Merlin._ There is fear laced in the word now, he doesn't know why, doesn't know where the word comes from, but it streaks through his mind unbidden but not unwelcome.

_Merlin! Wake up!_ There is a sense of urgency now as well as the fear. Why must he wake? Wake from what? The pain in intolerable perhaps in waking it might lessen. But how to wake?

_MERLIN CAN YOU HEAR ME?_ Follow the voice, the voice will lead you home.

…

Merlin cracked open his eyes, the bright light hurt slightly, but that brief stab of pain was almost a relief after the agony of the dream.

A face swam into focus. Blond hair, chain mail. "Merlin are you alright? You were dreaming."

"More just screaming mate." Was that Gwain? Who else was here? No wait, the hunting trip, everyone was here.

"And other stuff." Elyan? No. that was Lancelot's voice. Why did he sound so afraid? Why was every single weapon in camp hovering, six feet in the air, at the far side of the clearing?

Oh.

Magic.

His magic, he must have lashed out in the dream. In front of Lancelot, Elyan, Gwain, Percival, Leon.

And Arthur.

Oh Gods, Arthur.

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><p><strong>I don't really know where this came from, I keep trying to think of humour but I think I just like hurting Merlin too much (sorry Merlin). Please review.<strong>

**BTW, if you're interested, I've started to put up my half-finished ideas for fics on my profile, there's only about 4 at the moment, but I've promised myself that I wouldn't use the delete key anymore so that list will be extended in the future, in fact this almost made it to the 'junk' pile. Actually I'm not entirely sure why it survived but oh well.**

**Oh and to anyone who says you can't feel pain in dreams, I have.**


	2. In the eyes of a Prince

**I've got a strange sense of d****é****j****à**** vu. This is the second **_**One-shot**_** I've continued. I really hate you now, just because I make the ending all cliff-hanger-y you ask for more (seven story alerts. **_**Seven!) **_**And then I feel guilty if I don't write another chapter. So everyone who put this story on alert I hereby blame you… not to mention the people who reviewed…**

**But thanks so much, even if it annoys me on the surface I really do love all your encouragements (deep down anyway) – look, just don't take my complaints too seriously, its exam time, I get stressed etc.**

**Disclaimer: nothing has changed between today and yesterday.**

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><p>The night was peaceful, the faint sounds of the forest: the whispering of the trees, the odd hoot of an owl, the soft patter of the various creatures (and not to mention the <em>impressive<em> snores of Percival) were slowly lulling him to sleep.

Then the scream pierced his ear drum like a knife, it was almost inhuman. One syllable carrying such pain and anguish that Arthur thought his head might implode with the force of it. His hands shot up to cover his ears but they did little to filter out the cries.

It didn't take him long to find the source of the sound. If his head didn't feel as though it were about to be spit in two he might have found it comical that it was his servant who was screaming, considering his habit of cowering like a girl when any serious confrontation took place. But this wasn't just a girly fear of a spider in the bath tin. This was agony, purified and filtered until all that was left was the pain.

He felt himself shout Merlin's name but his call did nothing to lessen the horrific sound Merlin was making. But then something changed, Merlin's arms reachout as though trying to push away the source of his suffering, and they defiantly did more than swat at empty air.

Anything that could remotely be call a weapon was rising into the air, floating away from the group now huddled around the manservant and apparent sorcerer.

"Merlin?" he hated the sound of fear in his voice, for the sake of Camelot! He had fought off every threat imaginable, he was _not_ afraid of on skinny idiot servant!

He found himself shouting again, shaking Merlin's bony shoulders, desperate for the boy to wake up. And suddenly he stilled. His slim frame relaxing against Arthur's grip and his eyes creep open.

"Merlin are you alright?" The voice of his father still chastises him for caring about a servant in the back of his mind but he has learnt to quell the idea by remembering all that Merlin has done for him. "You were dreaming." The words were supposed to be comforting but his voice is shaking too much to be soothing.

"More just screaming mate." Trust Gwain to make a joke at a time like this, but then again it was probably some sort of coping mechanism.

"And other stuff." There is a profound level of emotion in Lancelot's words, concern laced with fear, echoing the feelings of every man standing there, but none of them seen able to form the words _that Merlin has just performed MAGIC_. Each and every one of them has dealt fearlessly with unimaginable horrors without flinching, but the thought that Merlin – who was essentially the corner stone of the whole mismatched group – was a sorcerer had them scared into silence.

There is a groan form Merlin, Arthur's inclined to believe that it's an after effect of the dream but his eyes are fixed on the weaponry, panic reflected in them.

And then the attention of ever knight has shifted from the distressed servant and onto the armaments which fall gracelessly to the floor.

And after everything that Arthur's been through, everything he's done, refused to do, fought for, fought against, everything he has hated, feared, loved and yearned for. Nothing has prepared him for this – not the fact that Merlin has magic, in fact that should have been obvious if you took the time to look back – but the fact that he didn't care, that he _didn't _hate the skinny little twerp. He was angry, of course he was, but that didn't mean that he wanted Merlin dead.

Arthur allowed himself to look round at the faces of his most trusted knights and friends, only to find them all staring back at him, expectantly, awaiting _his_ decision. Although Gwain looked as though he certainly _wasn't_ going to go along with it if he found it unfavourable, and he could not quite catch Lancelot's eye. They all looked to him now, he might have thought it for guidance but he couldn't help but notice that they were all positioned defensively around Merlin. And he couldn't help but smile because the thought of hurting Merlin was truly, utterly, absurdly ridiculous.

"You do realise, Merlin, that _you're_ going to have to clear all of that up?" he said, gesturing vaguely at the haphazard pile of varyingly dangerous objects.

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><p><strong>That is it. Please,<strong>_** please**_** don't ask for more, in the – now immortal – words of the BBC's **_**Sherlock:**_** Whilst I'm flattered by your interest… I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING! (that last bit was me, not Sherlock, but you get the gist). There is a reason that I write one-shots, unless I have a predetermined plot to follow I get utterly lost and confused when writing anything longer then a page and a half (I'm fairly sure that's my limit) just to prove my point this took me a day and a half to write (including time going to school) whilst the total editing time on the first chapter is only about 62mins. If someone else knows what should happen in the future of this little world I've created feel free to continue it, I've got exams and don't have time to stare at a computer screen trying to work out what to write next for hours on end.**

**Sorry again for the AN rants, I blame stress.**


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